It feels cruel to give you Chapter 2 without Chapter 3, but that's exactly what I'm going to do. Once I'm more than 1 chapter ahead (I can usually write 4 ish chapters a week if things are going well, but Chapter 3 was determined to misbehave) then I can start posting twice a week!

Friendly reminder: if you like this, I have a Keadlyn oneshot collection that is ALSO updated weekly AND YOU WOULD PROBABLY LOVE IT

Thanks feelslikeheaven for proofreading :)

Eadlyn threatening to throw people in the dungeon count: 1

My maid had Christmas off, so I did my own hair and makeup. I suspected I would be the only one putting in so much effort, but I was up early and needed something to fill the time. Besides, we had guests; it wouldn't do for them to see the queen with bedhead.

Even in my own mind, that sounded like a lie, but I couldn't be exactly sure what I was trying to prove.

When I heard footsteps in the hall, I grabbed my robe—I could fix up my hair and face, but Mom would let me have it if I showed up in anything other than Christmas jammies—and joined my family. Osten, the youngest who could walk and talk, was obnoxiously giddy. Kaden and Josie, the newlyweds, clung to each other. Mom and Dad were glowing, thrilled to have their children all under one roof, and Ahren, Camille, and Marie were still visibly jet-lagged.

The Woodworks were there too. Marlee and Carter, fine; they were basically an extra set of parents, but seeing Kile first thing in the morning, flannel pants and tousled hair, did something unpleasant to me. I immediately felt self-conscious about my fresh face and neatly-pinned hair. The queen really shouldn't have to try this hard.

What was I trying for, anyway? It was over, had been for years. I'd just been selfish like always, and believe me, I'd learned my lesson.

But we were adults. Regardless of what happened—which Kile seemed to think was no big deal, based on the way he was able to look at and talk to me without wanting to kill himself—we could be mature about it. Today wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, about us. This was Marie's first ever Christmas, Kaden and Josie's as a married couple. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I'd been eagerly awaiting this moment, and I couldn't let one stupid moment from six months ago ruin it for me entirely.

Christmas morning was one of few events that seemed to exist just for us. There were no cameras, no aspect of performance. For one precious day, we could just be the Schreaves instead of the royal family, opening presents and eating sugar cookies for breakfast. This year, Dad had gone crazy with the decorations; the brightly lit tree seemed to take up most of the room. Lights and garland hung on every wall, even on the back of the couch and the fireplace we never actually lit. It was a good thing Marie couldn't walk yet, because I counted at least thirty things a baby could destroy without any real effort.

Speaking of Marie, it turned out most of the presents spilling out from under the three were for her. Mom and Dad had perhaps gone a bit overboard for their first grandchild's first Christmas. Grandma made sure to tell them how much they were spoiling her, never mind that she'd been just as excessive with each of her grandchildren. For Shalom's first birthday, she'd bought so many gifts we almost lost the child in all the wrapping paper, and he'd grown up—or at least gotten to age three—just fine.

I squeezed onto the couch with Ahren and Camille. Osten passed out the presents—he kept throwing them; Mom kept telling them not to do that—while Aunt May and Uncle Gerad loudly tried to guess what was in each box. Kaden and Josie sat in front of the Christmas tree, leaning into each other. They were a picture-perfect couple; I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it coming.

I couldn't believe two of my three little brothers were married, one with a child, and I was still single at twenty-three. I mean, I was Queen of Illéa, so I wasn't striking out in every field, but there was still something uncomfortable about watching everyone else move onto the next stage of life while you were still in the same place you'd been for five years.

Without meaning to, I glanced at Kile, reaching for the tray of cookies. Nothing that happened was his fault. I'd let him go. I'd waited too long, but it still ached to see him and remember our lost potential. I thought about it often, what could've been if I hadn't been too stubborn to ask him to stay.

When it came to ending my Selection, I had two options: be selfish, or be a coward. I had chosen to be a coward, sending Kile (and the rest of them, but when the deep dark thoughts swirled around me, it was Kile that mattered) on his way to start his career, just like he'd always wanted. Obviously it was working out for him. Obviously I'd done the right thing.

There were times—six months ago, namely—when it didn't feel like I'd done the right thing, but now more than ever, I was trying not to dwell on that.

I wrenched my gaze away and tried to focus on Marie, working on a stack of gifts several times her height. At the ripe age of ten months old, she didn't really understand the concept of gifts or Christmas, but once in a while she'd grab a piece of wrapping paper and shake it around. The actual presents, she had very little interest in.

Christmas morning was lovely. For me, who already had everything, it wasn't about the gifts—although Camille did give me this gorgeous strapless dress that I loved—but the treat of being packed in a room with my whole family.

…and Kile. I mean, technically, he was family too, by marriage, but he still stuck out to me unpleasantly. What could've been. What almost was. What I didn't want to think about, slapping me in the face every time I looked at him.

And I just couldn't help myself.

He lingered when everything was done, all the presents unwrapped and the parlor a mess. Mom was going to make pancakes (or at least try to) per our Christmas tradition, and everyone was starving, but Kile hung back. Almost against my will, I did too. I wanted so badly to pretend he didn't exist, but that clearly wasn't working, and I could only run from it for so long.

"Hey, Eady…" he began.

When we were alone, it all came rushing back. Not just the wedding, although that was at the forefront and tearing me to ribbons, but the beginning and end of the Selection, the scattered moments we'd spent together since. Friends for life, I'd promised, but now it seemed that was doomed from the start. A very different Eadlyn had made that promise. I was naïve back then—now I knew better.

Thoughts like that did not help me. Perhaps I should throw myself in the dungeon.

I collected myself, trying to ignore my elevated heart rate and embarrassment flooding my cheeks. If never seeing Kile again wasn't an option, it would have been nice to at least have a wealthy, politically influential fiancé by my side when we met again. Instead, I had Christmas jammies and an entirely out-of-place face of makeup. It wasn't a competition, but I sure felt like I was losing. "Kile. Hi."

I was the one with years of diplomacy training, but he was the one who somehow managed to act comfortable with this conversation. Kile Woodwork, infuriating as always. "Listen, about what happened…"

No, no. Absolutely not, under no circumstances. I shook my head. "You don't have to do this. We can pretend it didn't happen."

At least, that's what I've been trying to do this whole time.

He ignored me. As sincere as he was infuriating, Kile went on. "I just thought you should know, about Alice and I—"

I cut him off. I had no interest in any conversation with Kile, but that particular subject was too much for me to bear. "Don't. It's none of my business, your personal life. I'd take it all back if I could."

He blinked. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes. Obviously." I'd never been more embarrassed than I was at Kaden and Josie's wedding, and I'd had food thrown at me before. If Kile couldn't understand that, he had no business trying to fix it. This was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid. I had no doubt Kile's intentions were pure, but he had no idea what he was talking about.

And was I going to tell him? Absolutely fucking not.

I pushed past him, leaving him in the parlor. Maybe he was staring after me, but I refused to look back.

I didn't think it was that warm out, but Ahren insisted we go for a swim. "The pool's heated!" he reminded me. "And didn't you promise Dad you'd use it every day?"

"I'm the queen now. I don't answer to Dad."

"You and I both know that's not true."

Regardless of the air temperature, it was hard to say no to Ahren. I'd missed him too much to put up a fight. I changed into my favorite black bikini and met him at the garden gate, a towel wrapped around my shoulders. Ahren had a jam-packed beach bag in one arm and his daughter in the other. I took Marie off his hands. She was wearing these ridiculous flamingo-print sunglasses. "Did she get these for Christmas?"

"Yes. For the most part, Grandma's the most out-of-touch person I know, but when it comes to baby gifts, she really knows how to pick 'em."

Mom, Marlee, and Aunt May were lounging next to the pool, but the water was smooth as glass. Ahren smeared sunscreen on Marie's little nose and plopped her in an inflatable pool float. I followed without any of their enthusiasm. Angeles weather was pleasant when compared to France, but it was still December.

If I didn't do it in one go, I'd never do it at all. I tossed my towel on a beach chair and jumped before second thoughts could creep in. For a moment, I was engulfed in icy cold, but I got used to the cold by the time I swam to Ahren and Marie in the shallow end. Marie seemed to share my enjoyment of the pool. She kicked her legs as Ahren pushed her in circles, a careful hand on her back. He was so good with her, not that that surprised me. As far as I was concerned, Ahren was the most likable person in the world. It was impossible to know Ahren and not like him; obviously his own child was no exception.

"Camille didn't feel like swimming?" I asked, taking a turn pushing Marie back and forth.

"She's on the phone with her parents. They really miss her when she's here."

"But not you and Marie?"

"Marie, yes."

Okay, so there was one person who knew Ahren and didn't like him. Unfortunately, that person was his mother-in-law, Daphne. It wasn't my business, and I didn't know the whole story, but the former queen of France had some sort of grudge against my family. Although she agreed to it eventually, she hadn't been keen on Ahren marrying into her family, and she'd only minimally softened towards him over the years.

"Try giving them more grandchildren. Eventually they'll have to like you."

"Eadlyn, I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but not every problem can be solved with grandchildren. Also, don't say stuff like that if there's even the slightest chance Mom could hear you."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just trying to live vicariously through you, I think," I admitted. "The three of you seem so perfect."

I had been cautious to accept Camille as part of my family—I'd felt threatened by her, at first. For such a long time, Ahren and I were the most important people in each other's lives, and Camille upset that. Fortunately, I'd outgrown that type of jealousy and graduated to something arguably worse: I saw their perfect family and felt left behind, sitting on the throne by myself, while everyone else was hitting their life milestones.

Ahren scoffed. "We're not perfect. Even if we were, Eady, it's not like you're doing so badly yourself. First woman to lead our country? Highest approval rating since said country was founded?"

"I can't take all the credit for that. For any of that."

"It still counts, and you should still be proud of it."

"I'm not saying I'm not proud of it. I'm just…" I shook my head, my wet hair dripping everywhere. "Forget I said anything. I'm a little shaken up."

"Because of Kile?" Ahren (correctly) guessed.

I wrinkled my nose. "Forget about that, too. It's nothing."

"Really? Because every time he looks at you, you look like you want to get hit by a car."

"It's nothing!"

"Why do you still think there's any point in lying to me?"

Ahren, as usual, was right. I sighed heavily, giving in. "Fine. It's weird with him. I don't want to talk about it, though."

"I wouldn't dream of pushing the issue."

"Yes, you would."

Fortunately, Ahren didn't get the chance to pry for more information, because Osten showed up with all our aunts and uncles to play water polo. I let out a deep breath. Crisis averted.